You Know What They Do To Guys Like Us In Prison
by AlterationLover
Summary: MCR/Various other bands . They're all in Prison ! But life is not easy, especially for someone like Frank ... Contains course language and Mature subject matter .
1. Chapter 1

**Okay, so, I don't own My Chemical Romance, or any of the band members of other bands, a.k.a. Green Day, that are mentioned in this story. I only own the O.C's. Enjoy :)**

**XOXO**

**~Alteration~**

Frank looked out onto the bleak desert terrain. No one was living out here; no one but them.

He looked down at the orange jumpsuit that held his trembling body. It was dusty and dirty and two sizes to big. But then again, he thought, it was better too big than too small.

The bus continued along the dusty road, small pebbles clanking on the side of the vehicle. He looked around at the other people wearing the same jumpsuit he was. They varied in ages, some younger, around twenty, like himself, some older, closer to fifty. At twenty-one, Frank was among the youngest, and therefore, the weakest.

The bus slowed down as it drove closer to a looming building. High concrete fences laced with barbed wire circled the structure. He could see a man, a _guard_, at the top of a watch-tower, and he felt as though the man was staring at him and only him, like none of the other delinquents on the bus mattered.

Driving in through electronically activated gates, the bus pulled to an abrupt stop in front of the building. Frank could see other men and women wearing identical orange jumpsuits. Again, like with the guard, he felt as if all their glares were directed at him.

The males and females on the bus stood up, but didn't move. No one wanted to be the first to get out of the bus into the hell-hole that would be their home for the next couple of years, at least. Even the toughest looking guys on the bus looked wearily out of the window at the tall stone building that sat beside them.

"Well, come on, ballerina's!" the bus driver called from behind the wheel, "We don't have all day!"

Still no one moved. Then suddenly, Frank was pushed over, and he fell face first into the aisle. He looked up to see a burly man with a neck that was thicker than Frank's leg glowering down at him, his hairy arms covered in tattoo's. He did _not_ look like someone you'd want to mess with.

Frank stood up. Well, he might as well get this over with. The first impressions were always the worst, and being the first person out of the bus would certainly get him remembered, whether that was a good thing or a bad thing, Frank didn't know, but he would soon enough.

He walked up to the front of the bus. He could feel perspiration forming on his forehead, and it wasn't from the heat.

With a glare at Frank, the bus driver pulled a lever that opened up the mechanical door of the bus. Frank stepped down the black rubber steps and onto the coarse dirt. His sneakers had seen better days, so he could feel every rock as he stepped onto it.

Slowly, the rest of the bus began to unload into the desert sun, slightly shadowed by the ominous building that stood directly in front of them.

Near the doors stood a warden. He was wearing reflective aviators, a white collared shirt with a black tie, a black hat and ironed black pants. Next to him, Frank looked like a homeless man, lucky to have found even the one piece garment.

Frank could not see the warden's eyes, but again, for the third time that day, he felt as though they were trained straight at him, like everyone was staring straight into his soul.

"Good afternoon," the warden's voice was deep and commanding, and Frank knew that he didn't really wish them all a good afternoon.

"This shall be your home for the rest of your sentence, however long that might be," the warden gestured to the dark mass behind him, "I am the head warden here and my name is Mr. Reynolds, but you will address me as Sir. Is that clear?"

"Yes," the group said rather half-heartedly,

"I'm sorry, what was that?" Sir cupped his hand behind his ear, as though he couldn't hear the large group of felons that stood before him.

"Yes, Sir!" the group said much more ferociously than before.

"That's right, now follow me," Sir turned around and walked through the open doors into the building. The group followed suit.

The interior was enormous but unimpressive. The walls and floors were made of solid concrete and were un-swept. Prisoners walked around aimlessly, probably heading out or to go to some classes.

Sir led the group to a large, open hall. He instructed them all to sit, and the group obliged, knowing it was best to follow Sir's orders.

"Now, we're going to set you up with your cell mates," Sir's voice reverberated around the large space.

Frank zoned out, staring around the room. It wasn't overly massive, but it could easily fit two thousand people. He decided that this was where the convicts came to eat.

"Iero, Frank," Frank jumped at the sound of his name, causing a few people to snigger. Slowly, he stood up, the cheap chair scraping along the concrete floor.

"Follow Miss. Finer. She'll take you to Division B," Sir motioned at a young warden, probably no older than Frank himself. She had jet black hair that was streaked with magenta and dark eyeliner. She did _not_ look like a prison warden.

Frank walked cautiously over to 'Miss. Finer', who was looking intently at him. He noticed her eyes were blue and grey, like a thunderstorm. They kind of frightened him, the way they were so piercing. Suddenly, he felt underdressed, even though the horrid orange _thing _covered almost all of him, excluding his head.

Walking through the halls, some men in the cell began to wolf whistle as Miss. Finer passed by. She stopped them by whipping out her middle finger. Frank stared at her. He'd never known a prison warden to blow off convicts.

"By the way," Miss. Finer said after a few minutes of silently walking through the dirty concrete corridors, "Don't _ever_ call me 'Miss Finer'. Around here, I'm just know as Amethyst,"

Frank nodded. He decided it was best to stay on the warden's good side.

Suddenly Amethyst stopped in front of a large, white door. Frank almost walked straight into her.

"Welcome to Division B," Amethyst said with a smile. He couldn't tell if she was genuinely happy, or just being sarcastic. She opened up the door before he could decide.

Through the entry, there was a small corridor of five cells. Through the first cell to his right, Frank could see a man with a large afro spiraling out from his scalp and brown eyes, and a surly male with blonde hair and stubble that sported a black lip ring. Next to his, Frank's small silver hoop looked minuscule. The blonde man's piercing icy blue eyes seemed to bore into Frank's hazel ones.

In the cell to Frank's left sat a man with a pinched face, black hair that was bleached white at the tips and sideburns. He had blue eyes. Seated next to him was another male with large, staring blue eyes and brown hair that was spiked in a Mohawk.

The next cell to the left was empty, but to the right, lying on a bed was a man with bleach blonde hair and crazed looking hazel eyes. The boy sitting next to him shared resemblance, so Frank concurred that he was probably his brother. That was probably the only similarity. The other male had dark brown, almost black hair and was wearing smudged black eyeliner. He looked quiet and discreet, while the blonde looked to be loud.

"Hey Mikey!" the blonde yelled suddenly, his large eyes opening alarmingly, "Lookie who we've got here! Fresh meat!"

Frank stared nervously at the bleach blonde. He did not look altogether there in the head. The guy the blonde had called 'Mikey' looked up briefly from his comic book at Frank, but didn't take much notice.

The last cell was empty but for a bunk-bed and two desks, one of them covered in a few books.

"What are all you guys doing inside?" Amethyst asked the prisoners after walking the length of the hallway, "It's nice and sunny outside!"

The answers varied from, "I'm too lazy," from the blonde with the black lip ring to, "I'm a vampire," from the quiet dark haired brother of the creep, although, it was the mumbled, "I was too busy fucking your mom, Amy," that came from the spiky haired male with the large, staring eyes, that caught Amethysts attention.

"Now, Tre," she said to the male, "You're here to get _rid _of that behavior," she turned to Frank who was looking questioningly at her, "Frank Edwin Wright III, a.k.a. Tre Cool, twenty seven, rapist," Somehow, Frank didn't find this hard to believe. 'Tre' had that perverted look in his eyes.

"That guy there beside him is Michael Ryan Pritchard, a.k.a. Mike Dirnt, twenty seven, drug dealer," Amethyst explained, pointing at the guy with the black and bleach blond spiky hair.

"And that's Ray Toro," she motioned at afro dude, "Twenty five, identity fraud. His cell mate's Bob Bryar, twenty four, arsonist. Burned down five buildings. Don't give him matches,"

"And that little creep over there," Amethyst jerked her hand towards the bleach blonde with the crazy eyes, "Is Gerard Way, age twenty five. Him and his brother Mikey, age twenty two, are the New Jersey serial killers,"

Frank, being from New Jersey himself, had heard of the serial killers. Seventeen deaths in two years, all perfectly executed, well, all except for the last one. That was close to a year ago.

"Awe, c'mon Amy," the creep Gerard said, his lips turned up into some crazy sort of smile, "We're changed men now! That's all in the past,"

"You shut the fuck up, Gee," Amethyst turned to face the creep, "You're no more changed than you were before. Remember the incident with the knife last week?"

"C'mon! That warden _wanted_ to be stabbed in the hand. I could see it in his face! I could almost _hear_ his thoughts, and he was thinking, 'Darn, I wish Gerard Way, the Almighty, would stab me. That would be such an _honor_,"

Frank would have laughed if it weren't for the fact that the creep kind of scared him. His eyes were wide and staring, and Frank couldn't even _imagine _what was going on in Gerard's head.

"Alright," Amethyst said after a few moments of silence, "So, you've met everyone in Division B except for -"

She was cut off as a final door at the end of the hallway, which Frank assumed to be the bathroom and showers, opened and a man with pitch black hair, smudged black liner around his blue eyes and tattoos on his arms stepped out into the hallway.

"Billy," Amethyst continued with a sly smile on her small, pale face.

"Frank Iero, meet Billy Joe Armstrong. He'll be your cell mate,"

Frank looked at the man. He was thin, but well built.

"How's it going, Frank?" Billy asked. His voice was deep, but not overly. Frank shrugged, and in truth, he really didn't know how things were going. All could be well one day and then the next everything could take a complete turn. Nothing was ever going to be the same for Frank either way. He wasn't a tough guy. He had some muscle, especially in his arms from his years of playing guitar, but that was nothing compared to some guys here. He didn't do drugs or rape people, that just wasn't him. He was just Frank, the guitar player who tended to make fun of people without even realizing it.

And you know what they did to guys like him in prison.


	2. Chapter 2

Billy was a quiet man, Frank could see that. He didn't talk much, only when he felt in necessary. But that was okay. Frank didn't really feel like talking much either.

Billy led Frank to what he referred to as 'The Mess Hall', the place Frank had gotten his cell assignment. Frank could now tell that that was no misnomer.

As soon as he walked into the giant hall, close at Billy's heals; he was overcome by the amount of noise. It was like a high school cafeteria. People were talking and shouting. Some were even throwing food about. Frank knew that it would take some time get used to this.

After picking up some "pasta" from the canteen line, Billy guided Frank towards a table with eleven chairs placed around it. Seven were already filled by the members of Division B. Everyone looked up as Frank neared the table. They were all extremely intimidating, so Frank decided to stay in the safe-zone by sitting beside Billy. Two empty seats remained, and Frank decided that when the two remaining prisoners that would fill the empty cell arrived, that was where they would sit.

Frank picked nervously at his food, swirling it around on his plate, having no appetite at all. However, he did not seem to be the only one who was not eating. The creep was seated at the far end of the table, head bowed, knife in hand, and was scratching something into the wooden surface of the table. It was upside down and very messy, but Frank was able to pick out, 'Motherfucker, get me outta this shit heap. I wanna kill every one of these motherfuckers. I wanna feel their blood through my fingers,' and then a few unintelligible scrawls that were unfinished words.

Billy, spotting Frank's interest leaned in close.

"He's been working on that ever since he got here eleven months ago. It's like he's writing a letter to God. There are plenty of murderers here, but he doesn't belong. He should be in a mental hospital. He's fucking psychotic, and sometimes he has fits. The only one who can calm him down is his brother Mikey. No one knows much about him, and no one hears him speak. Ever. Not that either of them are bad people, they're just different,"

Billy motioned at the Bob Bryar.

"Bob has anger management issues, so you don't wanna mess with him, but sometimes he can get you the goods you need to survive here. Ray there may seem like a really big scary guy, but he's nothing. He's a real softy once you get to know him,"

Billy Joe continued along the group.

"Tre is, as you know, a rapist, and he aint sorry about it. He's kind of a sick guy, but he's good for a laugh, and can be a good buddy, _if_ he likes you. Mike's a cool dude, there's not much too him really. Dropped outta high school to take care of his dying mom. Then she went and fucking died on him, leaving him with squat. He started selling drugs to stay alive,"

"And what about you?" Frank spoke for the first time that day. He rubbed his hand down his arm nervously, "What are you in for?"

Billy was silent for a moment, looking down at his untouched slop. He took a forkful of the stuff and brought it to eye level before letting it fall back down on the Styrofoam plate.

"I killed my wife," he said quietly, stabbing at the plate with his utensil. After a moment, Frank realized that he was not going to receive further explanation like he had with the others, so he decided to change the subject. He didn't want to get on _anyone_'s bad side.

"So, when are the new cell members arriving?" he asked quickly, motioning to the two empty plastic chairs that sat to his left.

Billy looked up from the brown mush.

"I think Amy said they were coming tomorrow," he said casually, but Frank could see the relief on his face. Billy did not want to talk about how he had come to get here, and Frank respected that. He himself did not want to confide in anyone just yet. Maybe as time grew on, but for now, that secret was his, and his alone.

Division B was a hellhole at bedtime. Bob was arguing with some no-name warden about how eleven o'clock was 'too fucking early to sleep', Tre was attempting to chat up a female warden who was not taking any of his shit, Mike was smoking, much to the dismay of yet another guard, who kept telling him that it was too late, and the creep was singing at the top of his lungs, "JUST SHUT YOUR EYES, KISS ME GOODBYE, AND SLEEEEEEEEEEP!" over and over again. Frank just lay face down on his top bunk with the thin pillow over his head. The noise was doing nothing for the massive headache that had become to accumulate in his temples.

It took the many wardens twenty five minutes to have everyone in their beds. They were out of the Division as soon as everything was in order, locking the thick doors behind them. The creep was still humming softly to himself in his cell, and Frank could hear the faint grumbles of Bob who was still muttering about the curfew, but other than that, the place was silent.

Sighing to himself, Frank brought the sheets up to his chin. The mattress that lay under him was thin and springy, but not totally uncomfortable.

Frank reflected back on his first day. Things had been better than expected. He had not gotten beat up, nor was he raped or offered illegal drugs. But this was only the first day. There was more to come, and Frank knew it.

From below him, he heard the springs squeak as Billy shifted his weight on the mattress. Then there was the sound of the bars of the door being pulled along the concrete flooring. Frank looked up just in time to see Billy depart out of the barred door, probably headed to the bathroom. They didn't have a toilet in each room as many cells did, but instead shared one bathroom at the end of the hall. For this reason, the bars of the cell were left unlocked.

Frank turned his head once again, staring at the cracked ceiling. He closed his eyes and exhaled again. He was asleep before Billy could return.

was


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N : Hey y'all ! I'm baaaaack ;) And with a new chapter too ? You're ever so welcome ^_^ ... I'm so modest, aren't I ? xD Well, whatever, enjoy the next part xD**

The next morning brought clouds that were quite unusual for places this far in the desert. Frank didn't mind though. It reminded him of home. Of Jersey. He sighed deeply, remembering how things were back at home. He wondered how his parents were doing. Did they miss him, or were they happy to have him out of their life?

Frank was like that kid in the corner of the party, drunk as fuck but didn't show it. No one really talked to that kid; they were too busy having fun. In fact, Frank _was _that kid. He couldn't ever remember having fun at parties, and eventually, he just stopped going. He didn't go anywhere, just sat in his room, and then, when he was twenty, he'd moved out of his parent's house into a grimy apartment with some guy called Kenny who just sat on the couch all day drinking booze. Frank's life had been simple. After all, in his opinion, getting by was better than living.

He thought of all this as he made his bed the next morning. The thin sheets fluttered around in the air before settling on the mattress. Frank gave a sigh. He realized how similar he was to that sheet. The mattress was the world, and he was just the thin blanket. He had potential to fly, but instead he settled with molding into the world, being like everyone else.

Frank closed his eyes. He was thinking too much, and a headache was starting to form in his temples. Scratching the back of his head, he walked out of the cell to go have a shower.

He walked down the hallway and opened the door, but immediately stopped. He stood absolutely still, and he heard the heavy door swing shut behind him, but Frank took no notice. The only thing he could see was the walls of the bathroom.

The tiles were completely covered in black permanent marker, writing inked onto the stone. But not normal vandalism, no, the walls read things like, "I AM THE SON OF RAGE AND LOVE," and "I'M SORRY,". All Frank could do was stare, trying to take in everything at once.

His thoughts were interrupted by a loud banging that sent Frank flying almost four feet into the air. But it was only Bob.

"Hurry up, ya little shit!" he yelled through the door, "You get five fucking minutes, or I'm gunna pound your ass!"

Frank decided that it was time to get a move on. Stealing his eyes away from the intriguing walls, he walked over to the small shower that stood in the corner of the bathroom. Pulling aside the thin shower curtain, he undressed, turned on the shower, and stood under the flow (well, more like _trickle_) of water.

Once he'd washed his hair and body, he stepped out; grabbing a towel, he hand dried his hair and got changed back into the orange jumpsuit.

Frank stepped out of the bathroom to find Bob Bryar glaring at him. Frank shied away before walking back to his cell.

Billy was sat on his bed, reading a book. It was then that Frank remembered the pile of books that lay on the desk. He walked over, examining the stack. He turned to his cell mate.

"Do you mind?" Billy shook his head, returning once more to his paperback. Frank picked up the top book, a reasonably-sized hardcover. He glanced at the spine and grinned. Harry Potter, his favorite.

Grinning, Frank climbed up onto his bunk, and was just about to open up the book, when there was the loud banging as the door to the division opened.

Frank sighed, closed the book, and jumped down from his bunk to see what the commotion was about.

In the hall stood Amethyst followed by two women. One of them had fiery red and orange hair and hazel eyes. The other woman was more gothic, with long black hair and pale, piercing blue eyes. They were both beautiful.

"Alright, guys," Amethyst said after a moment, "These are your new cell members,"

Frank had guessed as much. They probably didn't bring civilians into the cells, and they _definitely _wouldn't make them wear the same orange jumpsuits as the prisoners.

"This is Hayley Williams," Amethyst pointed at the fiery haired girl, "And Amy Lee Hartzler. They're going to be here until, well, whenever the hell it is they get out of this joint.

"Oh, and Gerard," Amethyst turned to the creep who was standing expectantly just outside his cell, "You got a package from your mother,"

The rest of the members of Division D sniggered, but Gerard's face lit up into a huge grin as he snatched the small parcel away from the warden. With clumsy, childish fingers, he ripped of the brown paper. As he saw the contents of the package, his grin seemed to get bigger (if that was even _possible_), and his eyes grew wider, until they almost popped out of his head.

"Markers!" he shrieked, dancing about like a two year old, "Seven different shades, oh shit!"

Frank looked at the creep with wide eyes for a moment as he danced about the hallway of the division, flinging his new markers in everyone's face, making sure they all saw is new 'treasure'. Finally, Frank turned over to the two women who were standing awkwardly in the hall. He could see the woman called Hayley was staring at him, obviously intrigued. As to why, he couldn't be certain.

Suddenly, he felt breath on the back of his neck. He spun around instinctively, only to find Billy standing behind him, giving him a curious look. Frank shrugged it off, although his heart was beating a hundred beats per second. Billy shook his head, then motioned for Frank to follow him into the hallway.

The two males walked forward to greet their new cell members.

"Hey," Frank said shyly. He was never all that good with first impressions.

"Hi!" Hayley said, flashing him a stunning grin, "I'm Hayley! And you are …?"

"Frank," he replied, "And this is Bill Joe. We're just down the hall,"

"Hey Frank," Hayley extended her hand, and Frank took it hesitantly. She looked a bit TOO interested in him. Amy Lee was staring at Gerard curiously, her left eyebrow raised so high it was almost lost in her hair.

"Oh yeah," Billy said awkwardly, "That's Gerard. He's … special,"

Hayley snorted lightly, covering her mouth with her thin fingers.

"Hey, Lee-Lee," came a voice from behind the two girls. They all turned around to see Mike standing in the middle of the hallway.

"Fuck," 'Lee-Lee' cursed under her breath.

"Wait," Billy said, "You two … know each other?"

"Mike and I were partners for a bit in the Black Market," Amy Lee said venomously, "He's just upset 'cause I landed him in this joint,"

Frank stared awkwardly at the group, feeling the tension rising. He coughed ineptly to break the pressure that was causing the hallway to heat up.

Amy Lee turned away from the rest of the group and walked silently to her cell. Hayley followed suit, giving Frank a slight wink. His eyes widened awkwardly as he and Billy retreated to their own cell.

Things were going to be a hell of a lot different around here with these girls, and Frank knew it.

**A/N : Did anyone spot the lyrical reference ? ;) Brownie points to whoever did xD**


	4. Chapter 4

_Why wouldn't she stop staring at him_? Frank looked behind him self-consciously to see that Hayley was _still_ looking at him, her green eyes locked intently on his head. It was starting to freak him out, seeing as how her eyes had not left him at all that day. He turned around, still feeling her gaze.

Frank closed his eyes. It was becoming unnerving, but he pushed it to the back of his mind. _A lot of people are freaky here_, he reminded himself. _She's just one of them_.

He brought his fork down to spear a small mouthful of what was supposed to be vegetarian meatloaf, but really just looked like shit on a plate. Frank stuffed in his mouth anyway. It would be a long time until breakfast the next morning, and he did _not _want to be hungry.

Billy, who was sitting to Frank's left leaned in.

"You do know that she's not stopped staring at you since she got here, right?" he whispered inconspicuously. Frank nodded, shoveling in another mouthful of veggie-shit.

"She's starting to creep me out," he said softly, so that Hayley wouldn't hear him, "Almost as much as the creep over there does,"

Billy chuckled and looked over at Gerard who was carving his little message into the table, his tongue stuck out in concentration, his snow white hair reflecting the harsh florescent lighting of the mess hall.

"I wonder what goes on in his mind," Billy said curiously, still looking over at the freak. Frank thought about it for a moment, then remembered something.

"Why was he so excited about getting those markers this morning?" he asked, remembering the creep's enthusiasm. Billy smiled.

"He's an art freak," he said simply, "He just draws and shit all the time. Maybe that's why he likes murder; he considers it an art form,"

Frank thought this through. It was entirely possible, although he didn't agree with the freak on it at all. Murder wasn't beautiful, never would be.

Gerard continued to hack at the wood table with the knife, jutting lines into the grain. There were no new completed words, just a few insignificant scars that probably made perfect sense inside the creep's messed up head.

Suddenly, there was a loud ringing, almost like a school bell. The entire hall stood up, walking over to the bright yellow trash cans positioned in each corner of the room. Frank followed along behind Billy like a little lost puppy. This place was definitely going to take some getting used to.

Once he'd scraped the remains of his veggie-loaf into the trash can, he followed the rest of the group back to Division D. Amethyst brought up the rear.

As they were walking back to the Division, Frank couldn't help but notice that the creep didn't have any shoelaces on his sneakers. This sparked a question in his brain. He turned his head so that he could see Amethyst.

"He's not on suicide watch, is he?" he asked with uncertainty, pointing to Gerard's feet. Amethyst looked at him for a second before bursting into fits of laughter.

"Hell no!" she said between giggles, "He loves himself too much!"

"Then how come he doesn't have any shoe laces? I read that they take them away if, well, you know…"

Amethyst wiped a small tear away from her eye, still chuckling softly.

"It's 'cause he can't tie them," she said plainly, "He can't seem to get it into his brain. It goes along with his slightly psychotic tendencies,"

_'Slightly' my ass_, Frank thought. There was nothing 'slightly' about that guy.

The group continued to walk through the hallways of the prison. At one point, Frank almost flung himself over the narrow railing that was perched on the edge of the walkway because he saw a rat scuttle across the metal grating. He shivered in disgust. He'd rather face the three story drop than have to go near on of those again. Billy had chuckled, sensing his discomfort.

"You're going to have to get used to that," he said, "'Cause there's a hell of a lotta rats around these parts,"

Once they'd reached Division D, Frank climbed up onto his bunk, picking up his book. He'd had enough of the endless stares that came from Hayley. They made him feel extremely undressed, and he had no idea why. It was almost like her eyes were x-rays. He was glad to be finally out of her sight.

From outside his cell, Frank could hear the rest of the group talking, exchanging stories.

"So what are you here for, Hayley?" that was Ray. Frank could tell from the slightly higher voice that did not coincide with his size.

"You're looking at Hayley Williams, master thief," Frank could almost see the smug smile on her face. She was really starting to get on his nerves.

"Not that much of an master, seeing as how you got caught," Frank snorted at Bob's comment. The arsonist had a point, but then again, he'd been caught himself.

"You can talk, Bobert!" Frank heard Gerard squeal childishly, using what he guessed was a pet name for the scary blonde. Then there was a growl, and the sound of running feet. Frank looked up just in time to see Gerard running down the length of the hallway, giggling, followed shortly by a very angry 'Bobert'.

"You'll never catch me, Bobby-boy!" the creep shrieked tauntingly. Frank smiled in amusement as the two men ran up and down the hallway, Gerard like a little psychotic bunny, and Bob like an extremely angry ox.

Frank turned back to his book, and had just read the first sentence when out of the corner of his eye, he saw a flash of orange at his cell door. Dammit, was he EVER going to get to read this?

He turned his head to face Hayley who was standing on the other side of the metal bars that caged him, a sweet, yet slightly sickening smile plastered on her pixie face. Frank's shoulders sagged slightly. So much for getting away from her.

"Do you mind?" she said through the smile. Reluctantly, Frank shook his head. Hayley entered the cell, her fiery hair falling onto her jumpsuit, making it look as though they were one garment.

Slowly, the 'master thief' walked over to the bunk bed and climbed up the side like an orange spider to sit beside him.

"What are you reading?" she asked, looking down at the book that lay on his lap.

"Just Harry Potter," he shrugged, picking the book up then putting it down once more. Hayley nodded before moving her eyes up to look at him again. Frank sighed inwardly.

"I was never much of a reader myself," she mused, "I was always that kid that was out getting in trouble, making mischief, doing stuff good girls weren't supposed to do,"

Frank knew that she was trying to flirt with him, and it was making him even more uneasy. You couldn't trust anyone that tries to flirt with you in prison. He'd read enough books to know that much.

"Haha," he laughed nervously, "That's pretty cool…"

"Oh, I know, right?" Hayley had a small smile on her face now, her left eyebrow rising so high it was threatening to become lost behind her hair. Frank coughed awkwardly.

"Excuse me," he quickly dashed out of the cell, heading for the bathroom. Once inside, he just sat on the grimy floor, breathing heavily.

Fuck. Things were not looking promising for him in the future.


	5. Chapter 5

**Wow, it's been so long since I updated D: I missed you guys ! Sorry I haven't been on in a while, I've kinda been busy with tests, homework, you know, the usual excuses that keep me from seeing you guys :( But I'm back now ! And this chapter is for The Swim Chick, 'cause she wanted more Mikey, so here ! Mikey it is ! ;D Enjoy ;)**

**XOXO**

**Alt ;)**

Frank awoke the next morning to hear voices from outside in the hallway. He listened intently, trying to understand what they were saying.

"Fuck, Mikey!" that was Tre, "You're a fucking cheater!"

Silence. No one spoke for a moment, and Frank listened even harder, just incase they were whispering. He didn't know why he didn't just go out into the hallway to hear what they were saying, maybe it was because he was just too lazy this early in the morning.

"You're a fucking liar!" Tre spoke again, and Frank's interest got the better of him. He sat up and jumped down from the top bunk. Billy was absent from his bed, but then Frank heard the steady drum of the cheap shower, and his location became clearer.

Shuffling over to the bars of the cell, Frank leaned his head out into the hallway. In the center of the corridor sat Tre, Ray and Mikey, cards fanned out in their hands. Tre's knees were brought up to his face, which was contorted in anger as he glared at his cards. Ray looked pleasantly amused at the rapist's irritation and slightly mocking smile formed his lips. Mikey just sat crossed legged between the two other men, his face void of all emotion and his cards placed face down on his lap. He was looking straight ahead at the wall.

"How the fuck do you not have a Queen?" Tre said angrily, "You're a fucking liar!"

Without looking at him, Mikey raised his hand and flipped Tre the middle finger. Ray chuckled softly as Tre's face went a deep shade of red. Tre growled.

"There's no fucking _way_," he snarled,

Finally, the silent serial killer turned to face Tre. He grabbed the cards that lay on his lap and slapped them down on the floor in front of Tre before raising his arms up to shoulder height as though to say, "Check me,".

Tre glared down at the cards before smacking them down on the floor next to Mikey's and standing up. He was about to walk away when Mikey grabbed his arm. Tre turned around, glowering down at the dark haired man. Mikey extended his left hand out towards the standing male. Tre's jaw set before he reached into his pocket, searching about for the item of choice, before lifting it out reluctantly and placing it in Mikey's open palm. The thin fingers closed around the small object, and Mikey let go of Tre's wrist. Tre sauntered off, obviously infuriated.

"What're you looking at?" he glared at Frank, and Frank stepped back quickly, not wanting to get in the line of fire. Once Tre was safely back in his cell, Frank dared to look outside again. Mikey was staring down at the small object in his hand. From a distance, all Frank could tell was that it looked like a small plastic chip, almost like a poker chip, but not as big. Ray chuckled again, patted Mikey on the back and then stood up, retreating to his own cell.

"They're gambling over extra deserts," Frank jumped at the voice from behind him. Spinning around, he saw Billy standing behind him, his hair dripping wet.

"Jesus, Billy," Frank gasped, "Don't sneak up on me like that!"

"I can tell you're a bit jumpy," Billy said. It was then that Frank recalled the moment the day before where Billy had almost made him shit himself. Frank blushed slightly.

"Yeah, sorry about that," he said quietly to his feet,

"Hey, don't worry 'bout it," Billy shrugged, and Frank smiled stiffly.

"Anyway, what were you saying?"

"Oh yeah," Billy continued, "It was Amethyst's idea. Four tokens equal one extra desert. You get a token for being good, or helping about, like sweeping and shit. That was probably Tre's only token. He _never _helps with anything,"

"Well then, he probably shouldn't be gambling it away, should he?" Billy laughed at Frank's comment.

"Yeah, probably not," he smiled, "Anyway, Mikey probably has everyone's tokens. He's constantly playing for them, and he almost _always_ wins. But he's no cheater. He's just damn good. You should go talk to him. He's a pretty cool guy,"

"But I thought you said he never speaks," Frank said, perplexed.

"Oh, he doesn't," Billy said bluntly before pushing Frank out into the hallway. He went sprawling a bit, but managed to regain his balance before he fell over onto his face. Frank cautiously walked over to Mikey, who was still sitting cross legged on the dusty floor, shuffling his cards. He didn't look up when Frank approached.

"Hey, Mikey," Frank said hesitantly, not looking straight at the silent man, "How's it going?"

Mikey looked up at Frank skeptically, like he was saying, "Are you seriously asking me that?". Frank shuffled his feet awkwardly.

"So," Frank said, changing the subject, "You like to play cards?"

Mikey, who was still looked unblinkingly up at Frank, raised the now shuffled cards up so Frank could see them. Frank took that as an agreement.

"I'm pretty good at cards myself," Frank dared. Mikey raised an eyebrow slightly. That was the first time Frank had seen emotion cross the man's face. Mikey once again raised the cards, but this time it was like he was holding them out to Frank.

"You … you want to play me?" Mikey nodded before gesturing to the empty floor beside him. Frank crouched down and sat beside the serial killer. Immediately, Mikey began to deal the cards, pieces of plastic coated paper flying through the air at top speed. Frank could barely keep up with them, they were traveling so fast. Luckily for Frank though, this was not a game to keep up with flying cards.

Once they were dealt, Frank fanned out his cards, looking at his deck. Not bad, not bad at all.

"What're we playing for?" Frank asked, but Mikey just shook his head. Apparently this game would just be for fun, although Frank was also sure that this would be the _only_ time it wasn't for something.

Billy watched from his cell as the two began to play. Mikey was so good at his poker-face that Billy had no idea what could possibly be in his hand. Frank was also very good, but Billy picked up on the slight things, like whenever Frank pursed his lips, he would be about to lose a card, and whenever his left eyebrow rose, he was about to win one. Mikey seemed to pick up on these traits as well, because within half an hour, he had won.

"Well, Mikey," Frank said, as the silent man began to shuffle the deck once more, "You really are as good as they say you are,"

Mikey looked up at Frank, and if you were far enough away, like Billy, you wouldn't have noticed it, but Frank did. He saw the slight twitch in the corner of Mikey's mouth that was _almost _a smile. Frank smiled back, and extended his arm out to the murderer. Mikey grasped Frank's hand in his own and shook it slightly, his face once again glazed over. They both stood up before parting ways, as Mikey went back to his cell with the creep, who Frank could hear humming along with a few whispered words that sounded like, "Blood, blood, gallons of the stuff,". Frank himself went back to see Billy, who was still standing outside their shared cell room, his arms crossed over his chest.

"You do know," Billy said, as they both walked into the barred room, "Whenever you have a good hand, your eyebrow raises, and if you've got a shitty one, you purse your lips?"

Frank laughed, shoving Billy slightly, before settling down on his bunk, hoping that he might actually be able to read some of his book.


	6. Chapter 6

**I'm so sorry guys ! D: It's been too long since I've updated, but for the past couple of days, I've been wracking my brain for a suitable idea for this story, and I just didn't have one D: But then last night, it was like, BAM ! And I knew exactly what I was going to do ;)**

**Also, this chapter is for thexredxrose ;) You asked for creepy Gerard ? Well, you GET creepy Gerard ;D**

**XOXO**

**Alt ;)**

Gerard inhaled the smoke, allowing the tar coat his lungs, and the nicotine to flow through his bloodstream. He was lying on a wooden table in the courtyard of the prison, his eyes closed, letting the sun warm him up.

His cigarette was clasped between his index and middle finger. Removing it from his mouth, he let his arm fall, so it was hanging over the edge of the table.

Exhaling out this smoke, Gerard sighed deeply. The sun was warm, and he was calm.

Suddenly, a shadow fell over him. Gerard cracked his eyes open ever so slightly to see the newbie Frank standing above him, blocking the sunlight. Sighing, he pushed himself up into a sitting position. Frank sat down beside him.

The whiteness of Gerard's hair almost blinded Frank, and he had to squint his eyes ever so slightly so as not to damage his eyes. The two males sat in silence for a few minutes before Gerard spoke.

"What do you want, sunshine?" he was looking curiously over at Frank. Frank watched as Gerard brought his cigarette up to his lips, drawing in the smoke. He gazed at the swirling smoke as Gerard exhaled, staring at the wisps and curls, as though it was dancing its way up into the atmosphere.

Gerard sighed again, before reaching into the pocket of his shocking neon jumpsuit and retrieving a small box, just large enough to fit into the palm of his hand. Opening the cardboard lid, he took out a small, thin cylinder of paper and tobacco and handed it to Frank. He smiled slightly before placing the cigarette between his lips, taking the lighter that Gerard was holding out to him, and lighting up, and then inhaling his addiction.

"So is that it? You just came out here for a fucking cancer stick?" Gerard spoke again, turning to Frank. He shrugged.

"I guess I kinda needed some air, it was getting a bit claustrophobic in there," Gerard snorted at Frank's response.

"Claustrophobic my ass," Frank was surprised by how _normal_ Gerard sounded. He wasn't talking like a two year old, or threatening to stab him with a fork. He just sounded like a normal guy.

"So, what's on your mind?"

Frank sighed. He couldn't believe he was really talking to a psychotic serial killer like he was his _friend_. He was actually having a normal conversation with him.

"Why'd you do it?" Frank said suddenly. Gerard turned to look at him, a curious look in his hazel eyes.

"Like," Frank coughed awkwardly, explaining himself, "Why'd you kill all those people?"

Gerard nodded, before looking out across the prison courtyard. There were plenty of other prisoners walking about; their orange suits reflecting the sun, making Frank squint again.

"It's… It's like a _passion_," Gerard mused, "I just… It started out as revenge. First person I ever killed was Mikey's ex girlfriend. She was a fucking whore who was sleeping with a whole bunch of other guys. And when I was killing her, as she was _pleading_ with me, _begging_ for my forgiveness, it was her _face_. Seeing the terror, the complete and utter _horror_ that shone on her face… I loved it. I loved feeling superior, bigger, _better_ than anyone. It was the first time in my life that I felt like that. From that moment on, I knew… I knew this was what I was _destined _for. And then Mikey joined me, and it was even better. Who better to work with that your brother? We killed so many motherfuckers together…"

Gerard trailed off, obviously reminiscing, a small smile on his face. But then the smile dropped.

"But then we got caught. We were fucking amazing, I mean, Mikey was a fucking genius. Knew how to leave the crime-scene spotless. But I fucked up. I fucked up _real_ bad. And then we got landed here in this _shit-heap_,"

Frank's eyes were wide and staring at the serial killer that sat next to him. He couldn't even begin to understand what was going on through his mind at that exact moment.

"So," Frank asked cautiously, "You _enjoyed _it?"

Gerard laughed, a harsh noise that sounded crazy, and Frank was suddenly afraid of the man that sat beside him.

"I fucking _loved _it," Gerard's eyes gleamed with a wild fire. Frank felt himself shrinking away slightly, wishing he hadn't came out to the courtyard.

"And I would do it again, _any day_," Gerard turned to look at Frank, the crazy flare in his eyes intensifying. Frank gulped.

Gerard began to move slowly towards Frank, and in turn, Frank was inching away, his insides squirming in fear.

Suddenly, Gerard lunged at Frank, and Frank leapt backwards, forgetting he was on a table, and landed flat on his back, the wind knocked out of him. Then Gerard was on him, his hands wound tight around Frank's throat, squeezing. Frank gasped, trying to get air into his starving lungs. His cigarette lay just beside his hand, and reaching out with all the strength he had, he managed to grasp it tightly in his hand, and brought it up, stabbing it into Gerard's forearm.

Squealing in pain, Gerard yanked his hand back, clutching the burn, hissing.

Frank tried to scramble away from the psychopath, but he wasn't quick enough. Gerard grabbed him by the hair and yanked him back to the ground.

With his own cigarette in hand, Gerard leaned forward so close to Frank that their noses were almost touching. He hovered the cigarette just above Frank's temple, and he could feel the heat that radiated from it.

Frank's eyes flickered back and forth from the burning cigarette to Gerard, whose eyes were crazed and full of malice.

Frank's breath shook out of his lips, and he tried not to tremble, although he knew he was on the verge of breaking down. Gerard had his knees on Frank's arms, and was sitting on his chest, pinning him down and making it extremely hard to breath.

"I'd forgotten how _good _this felt," Gerard whispered wickedly, the words escaping from his lips like poisonous serpents, ready to sink their venomous fangs into Frank.

Frank could feel the burning cigarette getting closer and closer to his face, and he closed his eyes tightly, awaiting the searing pain that was certain to come soon.

But it didn't. And then the weight was lifted off his chest. Frank opened his eyes and looked up to see Gerard screaming and flailing in the arms of two enormous guards, their muscles visible even through the thick fabric of their jackets.

Frank felt two sturdy hands helping him up into a standing position, and from there he saw Amethyst running across the stones of the courtyard, her jaw set, a determined look in her eyes.

"Get him his meds!" she yelled at the two guards that were still holding a crazed Gerard, "NOW!"

The guards began to walk away, dragging Gerard behind them. His eyes gleamed with such ferocity it was almost animal. Gerard screamed unintelligible curses at the top of his lungs, and it sounded like he was cursing everything on the planet. And then finally shouted something that everyone could understand.

"I'M GONNA FUCKING KILL ALL OF YOU! YOUR BLOOD'LL BE RUNNING THROUGH MY FINGERS, YOU MOTHERFUCKERS!"

Amethyst's eyes closed and she shook her head, before turning to Frank,

"Are you alright?" she said, and Frank could see sadness shining in her stormy eyes. Frank just nodded, unable to form words. Amethyst just pursed her lips and stared at the ground before turning and walking back towards the door from which she'd exited.

Frank scrapped his gaze from her, turning back to Gerard, who was still being dragged away. He was staring at Frank with such hatred, that Frank didn't even know it was possible. And then the guards dragged him into the building, but Frank was sure that even through the stone walls, he could still feel Gerard's gaze burning a mark into his skin.


	7. Chapter 7

Frank returned to Division D to see every one of his cell mates waiting for him. Their faces were stony, and Frank was certain that they had been notified of the incident outside. Gerard was still missing, and Frank didn't think he'd be coming back for a while.

Walking quickly past the group, Frank headed straight for the bathroom. His neck was still burning from the hold Gerard had had on it moments before, and he needed a shower, to wash away the fear and the guilt.

Even though a guard had assured him as he was walking back to Division D that it was not his fault, Frank didn't really believe it. If he hadn't gone outside to get away from it all, none of this would ever have happened, and Gerard wouldn't have had to be dragged away screaming and crying.

The heavy cloud of guilt hung over Frank's head as he walked through the door to the bathroom, letting it swing shut behind him. The first thing he noticed was, of course, the scrawled writing on the walls. He knew that it had to be someone in Division D who was writing it all, but Frank couldn't be certain who.

Then he spotted the marker. Black as night, it sat alone on the floor, looking slightly forlorn. Bending down, Frank picked up the permanent marker, rolling it around in his palm before deciding what he was going to do.

He walked over to the sinks, uncapped the marker and began to scrawl onto the wall in his messy handwriting:

_I DIDN'T MEAN TO DO THIS_.

Frank re-capped the pen, staring at the words he'd just branded onto the white brickwork. Then, out of the corner of his eye, he spotted his reflection in the mirror. Turning to face the glass, he saw himself properly for the first time since he'd arrived at the prison.

He'd changed. He wasn't that innocent guy that he'd been last year, or even last _month_. His face, especially his cheekbones, seemed more pronounced, and his lip and nose rings jutted out from his skin. But it was Frank's eyes that were the most changed. They were hard and cold. Prison had changed him. He wasn't the guy he'd been, and he never would be again.

Frank stared down at his open palm, where the marker still rested, then his eyes drifted over to the sink again, settling on the small, plastic razor that sat on the counter. Frank gulped back the saliva that was suddenly forming in his mouth.

Subconsciously he reached forward, grasping the plastic handle so tightly, his knuckles turned white. Frank removed the sparkling blade, placed the marker on the countertop, and then pressed the blade down on the skin of his palm. Frank dragged the razor blade along the crease of his palm, gasping slightly as the crimson blood began to flow from the deep wound.

Releasing the bloodstained blade from his now scarred and bloody palm, he stared down at the wound he'd just inflicted on himself. The scar was deep and jagged, blood pooling in it like a trench. The pain was minimal, for he'd broken too many nerve endings.

Frank walked back over to where he'd written the message on the wall. He lifted his palm and pressed it firmly onto the bricks just below his message.

Pulling away his palm, he examined his work. A clear, scarlet handprint shone under the black message, reflecting the fluorescent lights that shone from the ceiling.

Frank quickly walked over to the shower and turned on the tap, before placing his bleeding hand under the steady stream of water. The blood swirled around in the water before being sucked into the drain, never to be seen again

He removed his clothes and stepped into the shower, letting the water drum onto his back. He closed his eyes against the warmth, before washing away the worry and the guilt. For some reason showers always got rid of the stress.

After he stepped out of the shower, Frank walked over to the mirror once more. This time, when he looked in it, he didn't see himself as cold, or distant. He saw maturity. Maybe prison was helping him grow up, to get over the past. No one judged you here, because most of the time, they'd done worse things than you.

Maybe change wasn't so bad after all.


	8. Chapter 8

***A/N : Guys, I must say that I cannot tell you how sorry I am that this is this late... There has been stuff going on with me that has left me in no mood to write, but I sucked it up last night so that I wouldn't let you down. I'm so sorry, but here ... I bring you one of the happiest chapters I've written for this fic. I kinda needed a bit of happiness :$***

Frank stood alone in the hallway, just outside of the infirmary. He was shaking, afraid of walking through the white doors, but knowing he had to.

A day had passed, and still Gerard had not returned to Division D. Although Frank told himself over and over that it was not his fault, the guilt still hung over him heavily, like a wet blanket. That was why he was here, waiting outside the white door, behind which sat a murderer, who probably hated his guts.

Frank inhaled, nervousness making the air shake as it slid down his windpipe. Then, closing his eyes, he extended his right hand, and pushed the door open, before he had another second to think about it.

The room was white and … _clean_, much cleaner than any other room that Frank had come across in the time since he'd arrived at the prison. But then again, Frank supposed it had to be. With all the sick patients, bacteria would spread quickly if the hygiene was not kept in check.

The next thing Frank noticed was the smell. It was a cross between clean linen and rubbing alcohol, which nipped at Frank's nose slightly. It basically smelled like every other hospital that Frank had visited, which, unfortunately, was quite a large number.

Frank had never been, what they called, a _careful_ child. He was always the one out doing stunts, basically acting like a total retard in order to gain friends and respect. Unfortunately, being the school's daredevil came with a price. Frank had broken more bones than he could count, and had scraped himself up pretty bad on many the occasion, the worst being when he had fallen off his bicycle while attempting to jump a small brook, earning him a concussion and a broken wrist. His mother had gotten used to the trips to the emergency room, and by the time Frank was fifteen, all the nurses there knew his name.

He walked slowly down the middle isle, trying not to look at the sick or injured prisoners who were positioned in beds on either side of him. He knew the rules. No staring. Staring got people angry, and angry people were dangerous, even more so in prison. So he kept his eyes firmly forward, staring at the desk at the end of the hallway, behind which sat a brunette of about thirty.

Walking slightly quicker now, avoiding the looks that some of the criminals were giving him, he stopped in front of the desk. After a moment, the brunette nurse turned to look at him.

"And how may I help you?" a smile was plastered on her face, but it didn't reach her eyes. Frank knew she didn't want to be here, and was probably already counting away the minutes until her cigarette break.

"Uhm," Frank said apprehensively, "I'm here to visit Gerard Way,"

The nurses eyebrow cocked slightly, and Frank knew that in her mind she was asking the same question he was asking himself at that exact point; _Why would you want to do that?_ But there was no going back now. He'd said it, and now it was done. He was going to see the creep whether he liked it or not.

"I think he's stable enough for you to visit him," the nurse said, flipping through a few files. Frank glanced over at the documents until she stopped at one that had the name GERARD ARTHUR WAY written at the top in large print. She peered at the file for a moment, her eyes scanning the text, before looking up at Frank once more.

"Yes, he seems to be fine," she concluded, "But I'll need to see your slip. Visiting regulations,"

Frank reached into the pocket of his orange jumpsuit, extracting a small yellow card, which he'd asked Amethyst for earlier that day. She had seemed slightly uneasy about the fact that Frank wanted to visit the guy who'd nearly sent him six feet under, but he told her that he needed to, and she finally obliged.

The nurse looked at the card before placing it down on the desk, in amongst the clutter of files and papers, and nodded once.

"Alright," she said, "He's in the room just over there," she motioned to her left, "If he's asleep, I would suggest not waking him. Sometimes he can get a little … _cranky_,"

Frank knew only too well what she meant, but he headed in the direction the nurse had pointed anyway.

The door was at the end of a very small hallway, probably only about six feet in length, and was the only door present.

Frank stopped at the entrance to the ward, suddenly realizing just how nervous he was, anxiety making his heart race and his hands to become slick with sweat. Frank wiped his clammy hands on the legs of his jumpsuit before reaching up and grasping the cool metal of the doorknob and turning it.

The room was totally silent, and quite empty. All that was present was a small table that sat beside a hospital bed that had the curtains drawn and an uncomfortable looking wooden chair.

Frank walked slowly into the ward, trying not to make a sound as he shut the door tightly behind him and walked over to the chair that was sat beside the bed.

Carefully, Frank pulled the curtains away from the bed, revealing a silent Gerard, whose eyes were closed casually, as though he was having a leisurely nap. Frank heaved a sigh of relief, thanking everyone and his mother that Gerard was asleep. As much as he needed to visit Gerard, he had really wished that he wouldn't have to do it while he was actually _awake_.

Frank gazed down at the sleeping murderer and realized just how _innocent_ he looked when he slept. Frank almost expected the creep to suddenly start sucking his thumb.

Frank put his head in his hands, raking his fingers through his black hair, wondering just what he was doing here.

Sighing, he looked up once more.

"Gerard," he said softly, "I … fuck, well, I guess I'm sorry. I mean, it's my fault you're in here, and I guess I just feel guilty about it. I know there's not really anything I can do, but I just thought you should know that I'm sorry,"

Frank put his head in his hands again, knowing that if anyone were around that they would think he was a total freak, talking to some sleeping guy, but it seemed like it had to be done.

"Inspiring,"

Frank jolted up, almost knocking himself off the chair and onto the floor. Gerard was still lying in the same position, but his hazel eyes were now open, staring at Frank.

"Gerard!" Frank breathed, "I … I thought you were asleep!"

"Nah," Gerard shifted his weight so that he was now in a sitting position, "I heard you come in, but I decided it was better if you thought I was asleep. People always say what they mean when they think no one's listening,"

Frank's breathing gradually returned back to normal, but his heart was still jumping around inside his chest. So Gerard had heard everything he'd said? Frank wasn't sure if he was glad or not about that.

The two men sat awkwardly for a few silent minutes, not speaking. Gerard seemed to be analyzing Frank, and he felt a little self-conscious.

"What you said," Gerard spoke softly after a moment, "It … Thanks,"

Frank didn't know what to say. Here he was, just talking to Gerard like he was a normal person. But then he remembered the last time he'd spoken to Gerard like he was ordinary, and he was suddenly nervous.

Gerard seemed to sense Frank's uneasiness, because he gave him a sad smile.

"I don't even know why you're apologizing," Gerard murmured, "It's my own fault I'm here, and I did a shit-load worse to you,"

Frank started to oppose, but Gerard stopped him.

"Don't," he said, "I know I'm a fucking psycho, you think I can't see that? I tried to kill you, for fuck's sake! And here you are, trying to apologize to _me_, thinking it's your fault!

"You feel guilt way too easily, Frank," Gerard continued, looking down at the white linen bed sheets, "That's not going to help you in the slightest here. I think you should probably learn that soon, or you're not gonna last much longer,"

Frank looked down at his hands, knowing what Gerard said was true. As soon as people found out about his guilt problem, they'd use it against him, make his do all their bidding before eventually, throwing him away, like the piece of garbage he was.

"Now," Gerard spoke again, and Frank turned to look at the creep, "I'd say it's probably best if you leave, 'cause I'm supposed to get my meds any minute now, and I'd rather not freak out and attempt to rip you to shreds with a scalpel,"

Frank gave a small laugh before standing up, the joints in the wooden chair creaking slightly as weight was lifted off them.

"See you," Frank said feebly, giving the white haired creep a small smile before turning around.

The atmosphere in the room had changed drastically since when he'd first walked in. The air, which had been laced with fear and nervousness, was now filled with a sense of accomplishment, and maybe even a tinge of happiness. Frank felt a faint smile curl the corners of his lips upwards as he closed the door of the ward behind him, and walked away.


	9. Chapter 9

**** A/N : Hello my dears ;) This is (officially) the longest chapter I have ever written ^_^ And this is a very special chapter too ! It's dedicated to one of my closest friends, who's been through a little bit of a rough time lately, and I just want to let her know, that I'm here for her, no matter what, and that I love her, because she's one of the best friends anyone could wish for (LLL). Honey, I hope you like how I incorporated you into the story :3 **

**Now, enjoy the newest chapter, where many questions will be answered ;D**

**XOXO**

**Alt ;)****

Gerard returned to Division D four days later, and things slowly crept back to normal. Gerard went back to his giddy little self, taunting anyone and everyone with his childish ways. Frank was actually glad that the more mature Gerard he'd spoken with in the hospital had taken leave for the moment, replaced by this immature version. Something about the mature Gerard had freaked him out.

A few days after Gerard had came back, Frank was sitting alone in his cell, finally getting the chance to read the book he'd so desperately needed to read, to get away from everything. The creep was talking uselessly to his little brother, who probably wasn't even listening at all, about bathtubs, Bob and Tre were having a heated discussion about who would win in a fight. Bob was certain it would be him, but that was probably just the arrogance talking. Mike and Amy Lee hadn't talked since she'd first arrived. Frank supposed that it had something to do with Amy getting Mike thrown in prison.

Hayley was still giving Frank odd looks, though he tried his best to ignore them. There was something up about her, something not _right_. She was no Gerard, that was for sure, but there was definitely something about her that Frank nor the rest of the division could get their heads around.

Just then, Frank heard the telltale scraping as the door to his cell jerked open. Billy stood in the doorway, his arms crossed over the orange jumpsuit that rested on his chest. Frank turned to look at the man who he'd come quite close to over the past couple of days.

"Hey, Billy, what's up?" Frank said, turning away from his book momentarily, but long enough to see the look on Billy's face. From what he could perceive, Billy wanted to talk about something. Frank placed the book cover up on his bunk before jumping down so he was standing in front of Billy.

"I was just thinking about it," he said to Frank, although he didn't speak his name, "But you never told any of us why _you're _here. What did _you_ do to get landed here?"

Frank gulped. He knew that this would be coming, and now it had. He hated reminding himself of what had happened, but he knew that these people deserved to know.

"Yeah, Frankie-poo," he heard Gerard giggling from down the hall, "What naughty stuff did you do?"

And then everyone in Division D was walking into the cell, finding a space on any suitable seat they could find, including the floor. Frank stared apprehensively at the small crowd, not really expecting that he'd have to confess to the whole _Division_.

Frank sighed. It was time. He settled himself beside Mikey on Billy's bunk, and began to tell his tale. He could remember it as if it were just the day before…

_Frank sits in the corner of the party, alone, staring out at the throng of people who are dancing in front of him. His eyes rest on his best friend of ten years, Shelby, who is throwing herself along the dance-floor, head-banging to some screamo song that he doesn't recognise. _

_Bringing a bottle to his lips, he sips at the beer, the amber liquid flowing down his throat. Longing thoughts that he has never felt before wisp through his intoxicated brain like the smoke that spirals out of his cigarette, which is balanced precariously between his index and middle finger._

_Frank has been in love with his best ever since he can remember. Every little detail about her fascinates him. Her shoulder length brown hair with a caramel streak through her bangs, her charcoal rimmed blue-green eyes that are full of happiness as she dances along to the beat of the music. Even the thin film of sweat that sits just on her hairline seems to glisten with an almost magical quality in the multi-coloured lights of the club._

_The song shifts to a slower song, and as much as Frank wants to, he cannot get up the courage to walk onto the dance-floor and ask his best friend to dance. Soon enough though, someone else finds her, a slightly beefy looking guy. Shelby places her hand around his neck, and he pulls her body close._

_Frank looks away, unable to bring himself to watch as his best friend places her body against the guys. He can only imagine that _he_ is the guy, and it is _his _body pressed against hers._

_He inhales the smoke from his cigarette, letting the paper cylinder rest between his pierced lips before daring a look. Frank spots Shelby easily, and she still dances with that guy. _

_He watches in horror as he leans down and smashes his lips onto hers drunkenly, and from what he can assume, attempts to shove his tongue down her throat._

_Shelby pushes him away roughly, a look of disgust plastered on her pretty face. She wipes her mouth forcefully with the back of her hand. The guys face shows surprise, as though he has never been rejected before._

_Then the shock quickly turns to anger, and he shoves Shelby's shoulders, sending her sprawling onto the floor of the club. Drunken people stumble away, drinks in hand, not wanting to be a part of what is going on._

_Frank is on his feet in an instant, charging through the crowd to his best friend's side. He kneels down beside her, and helps her up, giving the guy the most venomous look he can muster. In return, the guy flings Frank a look of loathing._

_Frank can feel Shelby beginning to shake in his arms, and he knows she is on the verge of tears. Clearing a path through the dancers, Frank leads her away to the far corner of the club where he'd been sitting only moments before._

_He sits close to her, so their legs are touching, and holds Shelby tightly as her body convulses from silent sobs. He pats her arm and whispers in her ear soothingly, telling her that everything's going to be alright, that he's here._

_After a minute, Shelby looks up at Frank, her mascara smudged and her eyes red from crying. She hugs him tightly, and Frank can feel her breathing on his neck. It sends a bolt of electricity up his spine._

_"Take me away from here," she whispers into his ear, her voice heavy with tears. Frank just nods, before standing up. Shelby takes his hand without asking, but he doesn't mind. She needs him right now._

_Shelby has not had much luck with guys. Her previous boyfriend was abusive, and Frank knows that it doesn't take much to make her upset. He squeezes her hand comfortingly as he walks her out to the car._

_They are both drunk, but with no money for a cab, Frank decides to risk it. Besides, he doesn't plan on taking her home. He knows home is not where she wants to go._

_As they drive through the near-empty streets, Frank focuses all of his attention on the road ahead, and not on the stunning girl sitting beside him in the passengers seat. He doesn't want to ignore her, but he also doesn't want to get arrested for drunk driving._

_Finally, Frank pulls off the main roads onto a dirt track. The car jolts and stumbles over the bumps in the dirt, but neither Shelby nor Frank complain._

_He puts the car into park on the side of the railway tracks. All is completely quiet except for the slight buzz of cars coming from the highway a few miles away._

_Finally Frank looks over at the girl who he's been in love with for ten years. Her eyes are still damp from tears, but she is no longer sniffling._

_Shelby turns to look at him, her glistening eyes reflecting the moon that sits up high in the heavens behind Frank. He cannot comprehend just how astonishingly gorgeous she is. Even looking like she does now, with her mascara trailing down her face, and her eyes slightly puffy, she is still the most beautiful thing he has ever seen. He smiles, and she mimics him, and Frank is certain that his heart has exploded from the amount of love that pours through his veins._

_"Shelby," Frank finds himself saying, his voice barely above a whisper, "I …"_

_"What is it, Frank?" she asks, smiling, and squeezing his hand, which Frank is surprised to see clutched in her grasp._

_"I …" he closes his eyes, unable to bring himself to say how he feels. Instead, on a whim, he leans towards her and places his lips softly onto hers, feeling electricity tingle through his whole body at her touch._

_Frank feels Shelby's lips curl up into a smile, almost a smirk, as though she was waiting for Frank to kiss her, but he had taken longer than she had expected._

_Then Shelby wrapped her arms around his neck, pulling him closer. It is slightly awkward, as they are leaning over the arm rests on the chairs, but Frank barely notices. He is too lost in pure and utter ecstasy. It is finally happening. It has taken ten long years of secret wanting and dreaming, but it is finally happening. He's kissing the girl of his dreams, and it's fantastic._

_Then, he's in the back seat, and Shelby's on top of him, their lips still collided. Frank can feel the warmth from her body pressed against his. _

_Frank runs his tongue along Shelby's bottom lip, seeking, almost _begging_ entrance, which she happily allows. Their mouths move so fast, they are almost one, and Frank can't believe it …_

"_I really hope I don't forget this in the morning," Frank says, breaking away. Shelby smiles softly, squeezing his hand._

_Then he is abruptly thrown out of his happiness by a loud banging on the window of the car. Frank and Shelby jump, falling away from each other, their eyes wide in shock. Then there's a sinking feeling in Frank's stomach as he notices who is standing outside the car._

_The guy from the club who shoved Shelby has his face pressed against the window, and Frank can tell that he has had even more to drink than when they left him._

_"Stay here," Frank whispers to Shelby, but she's shaking her head. He already knows that she's coming with him even before she starts getting up._

_The guy outside steps back, so Frank can no longer see his face, which he is glad, because he reaches down under the seat and takes out a gun which is fully loaded. Frank has never had to use it, but he always keeps it near, just in case._

_Slowly, Shelby, then Frank, exit the car on the opposite side from the guy. The steadily make their way round to the other side, where the man is waiting for them._

_"What do you want?" Frank says in an attempt to be menacing. He's not sure whether it worked or not._

_"Wha's thisss?" the drunk slurs, ignoring Frank's question, "You can get 'er, but _I_ can't? You're nothing but a fffaggot,"_

_Frank feels the anger rising slightly inside of him, but that anger quickly turns to fear as he sees Shelby walking towards the man._

_"My boyfriend asked you what you're doing here! Answer him!" Frank's heart misses a beat when she says the word 'boyfriend', but he slowly recovers, clutching the gun tighter in his sweaty hands as the man walks closer to Shelby._

_"'Ello sssweetheart," he hiccoughs, reaching over to touch her, but she slaps his hand away._

_"Get away from me!" she almost screams, and that doesn't seem to help the guy's anger. His face turns a tomato red as he glares at Shelby._

_"You're gunna be sssorry," he snarls before pushing her down for the second time._

_Frank is on the other side of the car, with the gun raised and pointed at the guy in less than the blink of an eye. He can see the fear in the guy's pupils as he takes a step backwards, staring down the loaded gun._

_"You're not gunna …" he seems to be more assuring _himself_._

_"You don't know that," Frank growls, but he knows he's not convincing. The drunk grins toothily, sensing the hesitation in Frank's voice._

_"You're lucky you can even get _her_," the guy's taunting Frank now, "I mean, look how fucking _ugly_ she is!"_

_The anger is really rising in Frank now, and he can feel his finger tightening absent-mindedly on the trigger._

_"Look at her, the little _bitch_," the guy's laughing, a hoarse sound, "Go to hell, you SLUT!"_

_The air is filled with three loud cracks as bullets fly through the night, and the guy shudders from the impact. One bullet hits him in the chest, puncturing his right lung. The second smacks into his neck, just missing his jugular vein, and the final bullet makes home in his forehead, just slightly off centre._

_The guy's eyes glaze over, his eyes lifeless, and he falls to the ground with a sickening thud. The only sound that can be heard is Shelby's scream as she stares down at the dead man, but Frank can't hear it, due to the amount of blood pumping in his ears. He feels like he's going to vomit. He has just killed a man._

_After a moment of hyperventilating, Frank is sane enough to realize that Shelby has stopped screaming, and the night is silent._

_"You … just sh-shot him …"she stutters, and she's right. Frank has just killed a man._

_Slowly, the gun falls from his grip and lands on the ground with a faint thump that seems to echo on into the silent night._

"I turned myself in," Frank whispered, finishing his story, "I couldn't live with the guilt," he looked sideways over at Gerard who was staring at him, but Frank couldn't keep his gaze.

"You didn't even fuck the chick?" Tre remarked, "If _I_ were you, that would been-"

He stopped when he realized that everyone in the cell was staring at him with cold eyes. He hung his head, but didn't look particularly shamed. Mike coughed to break the silence that had formed with Tre's statement.

"Billy?" Mike said, turning to look at Frank's cellmate. He seemed to ask Billy a silent question, because in return, all he received was a small nod. Billy turned to look at Frank.

"Frank," he said, "I think it's time for you to have a little bit of the only thing that makes living in this hell-hole bearable,"

Frank saw everyone else's mouths (besides Hayley and Amy Lee who were looking just as confused as he was) turn up into a smile, before they all stood up, and walked out of the cell.

**Are you all happy ? You finally found out how Frank ended up in prison xD I was thinking of maybe leaving it for a little longer, but then I decided not to, with all the confusion :P So, uhm ... TADAA ! *waves magic wand***


	10. Chapter 10

My friends:

I am sorry to say that this story is finished. I do not have plans to continue it.

I cannot express how sorry I am. It is my fault, and mine alone that this story won't be finished. School has not been a problem, nor have I been busy.

The truth is that I flew into this fanfic without really thinking it through. This story has no skeleton, and there are only mindless events that will take place. It has no structure at all, and I don't even think there is a true plot.

So, I have decided to end it. I would much rather end a story that I once loved than finish it being unsatisfied with it.

I'm sorry to the select few out there who enjoyed reading this story, because I enjoyed writing it too. However, I did not think it through, I did not spend enough time planning it out. It is my fault that this fic is over.

Thank you to everyone who has supported me through this fic, even though it's finished. Your reviews bring me up, and you are amazing people. I just wish that I could have done more for you in return.

If you wish to read more of my fanfiction, Blood And Roses and Inferno are finished. They are the only two on this site that I have finished.

Also, I have a livejournal, where I have begun to write my newest fanfiction. I promise you now that I have thought through this entire story before even writing a word. I have spent months planning this story, writing down ideas, getting to know characters, etc. This will **NOT** end up like You Know What They Do To Guys Like Us In Prison.

My livejournal is: lithiumextract[dot]livejournal[dot]com

Just replace the [dot] with a period/fullstop.

Here is a little snippet of the fanfiction, for any of those who are interested:

_The water boils with a scream, its final, dying wail echoing through the house, lingering on even after Gerard flicks the switch, turning the heat off. He picks up the kettle._

_It weighs fifty pounds._

_He pours the water into the empty mug where the tea bag resides, alone, curled up in the bend like a mouse cornered by a cat. The boiling water steams, turning from clear to amber._

_They were out of coffee._

_Not good._

_He sips delicately at the tawny liquid, careful not to scald his throat, but even though he takes the most miniscule of sips, he still feels his tongue go fuzzy. Coffee was never this violent. _

_But the coffee was gone._

_And there was only tea._

_Goddamned tea._

_His mother walks into the room and spies him sitting at the table. She hides her concern very well, but her eyes are dull, expecting disappointment._

"_Have you eaten breakfast yet?" she asks, her words hopeful._

"_Yes," Gerard lies, and her worries evaporate into the air, escaping through cracks under the doors and out the windows. She spots the dirty bowl with the soggy remains of some Fruit Loops (118) crusting on the sides. He'd planted it there earlier that morning. No need to get her worried about something that didn't matter. _

_He was fine._

_Gerard can see that she feels guilty for not trusting him, even though she shouldn't. The guilt drips from her face and falls into her hands. She plays with it, twisting it through her fingers._

_He goes back to the aggressive tea, even though his throat's already burned. He doesn't want it. It tastes like plants. But still the hot liquid falls down his throat, filling up his mouse stomach unnecessarily. It squeaks in protest, but he keeps drinking. If he doesn't, things will seem wrong. Things can't seem wrong._

_He's fine._

As I said before, I have planned this story out for months, so it will not be a failure. I know everything that is going to happen in it.

Again I say I'm sorry to all you readers. I have disappointed you, and myself. I'm sorry.

-AlterationLover


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